"estocada" poems
the pang never hit me
hard and fast
like the ****** of a sword
into the bull’s back
no blood left my body
as you, the matador
buried the dagger
in the ***** you
once called home
i lay under you
unfazed by the blow
spectators whirling flags
and cheering you on.
when this is all done
don’t drag me to the stall
to plaster my ruptured heart
as you would a bedroom wall
leave it dispersed in the dirt,
I don't need it after all.
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC